Villain Origin : Every Crime I Commit Helps Me Level Up-Chapter 26: Resolve

The drive back to their safehouse was silent and tense. Ken sat in the passenger seat beside Andre, stealing glances at the man who had just demonstrated powers beyond human understanding. The other vehicles followed closely behind, carrying their wounded.

Andre's knuckles were white on the steering wheel, his jaw clenched tight. Whatever had happened back there—whatever he had revealed—it clearly wasn't something he had intended.

"We need a doctor," Ken said finally, breaking the silence. "Dax is in bad shape."

Andre nodded. "There's someone waiting at our new safehouse. Dr. Rivera. Hawk recommended her."

Ken raised an eyebrow. "Someone who won't ask questions about bullet wounds and whatever the hell happened to your men?"

"Someone who's seen worse," Andre replied cryptically.

They arrived at an abandoned industrial complex on the outskirts of the city. What had once been a textile factory now served as Andre's gang's main safehouse—a maze of offices, machinery halls, and storage rooms that had been converted into a functional base of operations. Andre had bought the property two days ago, when his gang numbers began to rise.

As they pulled into the loading bay, a woman was already waiting for them. She wore simple clothes—jeans, a black t-shirt, and a worn leather jacket—but carried herself with authority. Her hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, revealing hard eyes that surveyed the arriving vehicles with practiced efficiency.

"That's a lot of bodies, Andre," she said as they exited the car. There was no surprise in her voice, only calm assessment.

"They'll live, Dr. Rivera," Andre replied. "But they need your attention."

Dr. Rivera nodded, already moving toward the other vehicles. "Get them inside. I've prepped the medical bay." Her eyes lingered on Ken for a moment, assessing him with the same clinical detachment she'd shown the wounded. "You're new. Can you follow basic medical instructions?"

Ken nodded, slightly taken aback by her directness.

"Good. Then you're helping me tonight," she said, tossing him a pair of latex gloves from her pocket.

The next hour passed in a blur of activity. Ken helped transport the wounded to the converted storage room that now served as their medical facility. Dr. Rivera worked with mechanical precision, assessing injuries and prioritizing the most severe cases. Two other individuals—a young man and woman who Ken had never seen before—assisted her, moving with the same clinical efficiency.

Ken watched as Dr. Rivera's hands moved with practiced skill, suturing wounds and setting broken bones. There was something in her eyes—a haunted knowledge that spoke of battlefields and horrors far beyond this makeshift medical bay.

Eventually, the wounded were stabilized. Six men with various injuries, all expected to recover. Dax had been the worst—three broken ribs and internal bleeding that had required Dr. Rivera's immediate attention. But even he was resting now, sedated but stable.

"You did good work," Dr. Rivera said to Ken as she washed blood from her hands. "Most people would have passed out or puked by now."

"I've seen my share of blood," Ken replied.

She studied him for a moment, then nodded slightly.

Immediately she turned away to check on her patients, leaving him with more questions than answers.

Ken found Andre on the roof of the complex, staring out at the city skyline. The distant glow of emergency vehicles was visible near the warehouse district—police and fire responding to the explosion they had left behind.

"Your doctor friend isn't just a doctor, is she?" Ken asked, joining Andre at the edge of the roof.

Andre didn't look at him. "Dr. Rivera was a combat medic before. Hawk vouches for her discretion."

"Like you need someone who won't ask questions about what happened tonight?" Ken pressed.

Andre was silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the distant lights of emergency vehicles.

Ken took a deep breath, then faced Andre directly. "I think I deserve an explanation after what I saw tonight."

Andre remained silent, still looking out at the city.

"You recruited me just yesterday, Andre," Ken continued, his voice harder than he intended. "Promised me a place in something bigger than myself. You said that your gang would be different, that you were building something that mattered in this city. Although, I thought you were crazy for challenging the Solar Shade gang. And now, not even forty-eight hours later, I find out you've been hiding... whatever the hell that was."

Andre's expression remained unreadable. "Would you have believed me if I had told you?"

"Told me what? That you can move faster than the human eye can track? That you can shatter concrete with your fists? That you can glow like some kind of... I don't even know what?" Ken ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "No, probably not. But that's not the point."

"Then what is the point, Ken?" Andre's voice was quiet but intense.

"The point is trust," Ken replied. He gestured vaguely in the direction of the warehouse. "I was expecting turf wars, drug deals, the usual gang stuff. But this is something else entirely."

Andre turned back to the skyline.

"Marcus called you 'Atlas.' He said he knows what you are. What did he mean by that?"

Andre was silent for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was measured, as if choosing his words carefully.

"There are... people in this world who are different," he began. "People with abilities that others would consider impossible."

"Like some kind of superhero shit?" Ken asked incredulously.

A bitter smile crossed Andre's face. "Heroes, villains... those are simplistic labels. The reality is more complicated."

"So what are you?" Ken pressed.

Andre met his gaze directly. His eyes held something Ken had never seen before—a resolve that seemed to burn from within.

"I'm someone who's determined to be the strongest," Andre said finally. "No matter what it takes."

"That's not an answer," Ken countered.

"It's the only one I can give you right now," Andre replied. He turned away, looking out over the city again. "The truth is, Ken, I don't have all the answers myself. I don't know how many others like me are out there. But I do know this—I will surpass them all."

"And Marcus? Is he like you too?"

A shadow crossed Andre's face. "No. Regrettably, he's something else entirely. Something... more conventional, in his own way."

Ken tried to process this information. It sounded insane, and yet he had seen the evidence with his own eyes just hours ago.

Andre turned back to him, his expression suddenly intent. "The real question, Ken, is what happens now. You've seen something tonight that changes everything. You can't un-see it. You can't go back to the way things were." He paused, studying Ken's face. "So what are you going to do?"

'He's testing me,' Ken realized. 'After everything I've been through tonight, he's still not sure if I'll stay.'

The thought should have angered him, but instead, Ken found it strangely reassuring. It meant that this—whatever this was—was as important to Andre as Ken wanted it to be important to him.

"What am I going to do?" Ken repeated, holding Andre's gaze. "I'm going to keep doing what I've always done. Have your back. Help you build something that matters in this godforsaken city."

'This is insane,' a voice in the back of Ken's mind whispered. 'You're throwing in your lot with someone who just demonstrated powers that shouldn't exist. Someone who's keeping secrets even now. Who prepares for something like that? What have I gotten myself into?'

"Even knowing there's more to this than you thought?" Andre asked. "Even knowing there are dangers you can't possibly understand?"

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Ken laughed without humor. "I was just your normal thug boss, Andre. Now, I've gotten the chance to become something bigger. You gave me a new purpose. You think I'm going to walk away from that because the world turns out to be weirder than I thought? No chance."

'There's no turning back from this,' Ken thought. 'But then, there never really was. From the moment Andre approached me on that street corner yesterday, offering me a way in, a purpose... my path was set. Whatever he is, whatever game he's playing, it's clearly bigger than I imagined. And I want in.'

Andre studied him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Alright," he said simply.

"Alright?" Ken echoed. "That's it?"

A ghost of a smile crossed Andre's face. "What were you expecting? A blood oath? A secret handshake?"

Ken shook his head, laughing despite himself. "I don't know. Something more... ceremonial, I guess."

"This isn't a movie, Ken," Andre said, though his expression had lightened somewhat. "This is just... life. My life. And now, a bit more of yours."

They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of unspoken things settling between them like dust after an explosion.

"Can I ask you one thing?" Ken said finally.

Andre nodded.

"How did you get to the warehouse so fast tonight? I didn't even see you arrive."

Andre's expression turned serious again. "I was already there. Watching."

Ken's eyes narrowed. "You had a feeling it might go south. So you already know who the mole is, right?"

"Yes," Andre answered simply.

Ken nodded, accepting this. There would be time for those details later. For now, it was enough to know that Andre was the kind of person who stayed three steps ahead, protecting what was his.

As they turned to head back inside, Ken cast one last glance at the city skyline. The emergency lights were still visible in the distance, a reminder of the chaos they had left behind.

Whatever came next—whatever Andre was, whatever he was becoming—Ken knew one thing for certain: life with Andre's gang was never going to be the same again.

"Wait a second—" Ken said, pausing by the roof access door, his brow furrowed in thought. "This textile factory was all over the news last month... Laurent Industries bought it out and shut it down, threw hundreds of people out of work. How did you manage to get this place?"

"I bought it," Andre replied with deliberate casualness, his eyes still tracing the cityscape.

Ken stared at him, a new realization dawning. "That kind of money, that kind of influence... 'Atlas' isn't about whatever powers you have, is it?.

Andre turned slightly, a hint of approval in his eyes, but said nothing.

---

At the top of Eclipse Tower, Victor Caldwell stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse office, watching the distant plume of smoke that rose from his destroyed warehouse. His reflection in the glass revealed nothing—a tall, elegant man in an impeccable suit, his silver-streaked dark hair combed back from a face carved from granite.

The door opened behind him. In the reflection, Victor watched Marcus enter. Despite the fresh designer suit and the careful grooming, Marcus couldn't fully hide the damage Andre had inflicted. He moved with a slight hunch, one hand occasionally straying to his abdomen where the final blow had landed.

"Who did this?" Victor asked without turning, his voice soft but carrying the weight of promised violence.

Marcus straightened despite the pain. "The Atlas boy, sir."

Victor's eyes narrowed slightly. "Andre Atlas."

"Yes, sir."

Victor was silent for a moment, still watching the smoke in the distance. "And the package?"

"Destroyed in the explosion, sir," Marcus replied, the lie slipping easily from his lips.

In truth, the package was safely secured at Location Three, but Victor didn't need to know that. Not yet. What Victor needed was a reason to see Andre Atlas as an immediate threat that had to be eliminated. A valuable package could be replaced—but an attack on Victor's authority could not be tolerated.

Victor's face hardened, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly.

"How did you fail?" Victor asked. The question carried judgment, and cold curiosity. "You're my lieutenant, Marcus. My right hand."

Marcus's jaw tightened. "The boy... Andre Atlas... he isn't normal, sir. He's a vessel, like you."

Victor turned slowly from the window, his eyes now fixed on Marcus with renewed intensity.

"Explain."

"He has abilities," Marcus continued, measuring each word carefully. "But the power he channels... it's different from yours. Another source entirely." He paused, making sure his next words carried the proper weight. "And there's a clear difference in magnitude. He's nothing compared to you, sir. A vessel, yes, but a weaker one with inferior power."

Victor's expression remained unchanged, but something flickered behind his eyes—a spark of interest that hadn't been there before.

"You're certain of this?"

"Absolutely, sir," Marcus replied with complete conviction. "What I saw tonight was impressive by normal standards, but compared to what I've seen you do..." He let the sentence hang, knowing Victor would understand.

Victor moved to his desk with deliberate steps. In the underworld, they called Victor "Voidflare"—a man who had carved his empire from the bones of those who had underestimated him. A man who had earned his place among the Big Five through ruthlessness and an absolute refusal to show weakness.

He poured two fingers of amber liquid into a crystal tumbler, but this time, instead of drinking it immediately, he swirled it thoughtfully.

"It's been a long time since anyone dared to defy me," Victor said, his voice almost contemplative. "My reputation alone has been enough to keep order. Perhaps..." he paused, studying the liquid in his glass, "perhaps that's made me soft."

Marcus remained silent, knowing better than to interrupt Victor's thoughts.

"The city's forgotten what happens to those who cross me," Victor continued. He drank the liquor in one swift motion and set the glass down with a decisive click. When he looked up, his expression had transformed into something that made even Marcus's blood run cold—a focused, predatory intent that seemed to radiate from him like heat.

"So," Victor said, his voice now a razor wrapped in silk, "Andre Atlas thinks he can destroy what's mine and walk away?"

"Sir, we should—"

Victor silenced him with a slight raise of his hand. "Andre Atlas has become a problem. A problem that needs to be solved... permanently."

"Yes, sir," Marcus replied, a sense of purpose solidifying within him. This was why he served Victor—to witness this cold, perfect efficiency in action. To be part of something truly unstoppable.

"Prepare everything," Victor ordered.

"It will be done, sir," Marcus said, his voice firm with resolve. This wasn't just about following orders anymore. This was about restoring the natural order—showing the city what happened when someone challenged Victor Caldwell.

"And Marcus?"

"Sir?"

Victor's eyes were obsidian, reflecting nothing. "Failure is not an option. Not in this. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly, sir."

As Marcus left the office, he felt a renewed sense of loyalty and purpose. Behind him, Victor had returned to the window, watching the smoke rise from the ruins of his warehouse—the opening move in a war that would reshape the city.

'Let them remember the fear,' Marcus thought as the elevator doors closed. 'Let them remember why you don't cross Victor Caldwell.'